


Remedy

by endoftheline7 (orphan_account)



Series: Survival [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bottom Will, Established Relationship, First Time, M/M, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Finale, Top Hannibal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-21 14:03:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4831808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/endoftheline7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Days stretch into weeks, and holed up in Amsterdam is when Will actually realises it, as Hannibal rises from the sofa and makes a wide berth of him, heading to the bathroom.</p><p>He and Hannibal haven't touched yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remedy

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not that great at writing smut, so i'm kinda nervous about posting this. Hope it's okay.

The next few weeks are long, tiring and arduous.

Not monotonous though, they certainly don't hold anything less than excitement. Running from the FBI actually _is_ fairly exciting. Will envies Bedelia for being the one to do this with Hannibal last time.

They had treated their wounds as fast as possible, not only to make haste to leave, but to prevent as much long lasting damage as possible. Thankfully, all that remains of Dolarhyde's attack are scars, mostly littering parts of their bodies that can be covered by clothes.

It's not like they were free of scars anyway.

The injury on Will's face surprised them both by not actually being too bad- fixable, and mainly looking like it could pass for Will just getting into a normal fight. With a little concealer, it's almost unnoticeable, and in a few years it will be nearly entirely diminished.

So they had nursed each other back to health, hiding to the best of their ability, until they had finally gotten well enough to go. Days stretch into weeks, and holed up in Amsterdam is when Will actually realises it, as Hannibal rises from the sofa and makes a wide berth of him, heading to the bathroom.

He and Hannibal haven't touched yet.

Well they've _touched_ , of course they've touched, but not in the way that lovers do. The majority of their physical contact was while they were wounded and trying to heal, and although they've shared a few kisses here and there, they were brief. It's understandable, seeing as they didn't know if the FBI were chasing them or not, and were desperate to get away, but they've been in Amsterdam for over a week now, and they're both pretty sure they're safe.

They haven't really talked about their relationship status, not exactly, but it's not like they really _need_ to. They're in love, and that's all that actually matters. Putting a label on something like them would be practically impossible _anyway_ , so no, there hasn't been a conversation. Will's realisation makes him wonder if there should've been.

He's shaken from his thoughts by the door closing and Hannibal returning to the couch, but this time, Will notices the distance between them. He frowns at his book, squinting at the words he's not reading, until he gets it.

Hannibal is _scared_.

He's scared of losing Will, scared of making a move too soon, making Will _uncomfortable_. He _knows_ Hannibal wants him, he's seen it in his eyes and face, when Will walks out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist, when he stretches and his t-shirt rides up. Things are certainly awkward while they share a bed, both of them too nervous to do anything. The Hannibal he knew before would probably never have reacted to those instances, he was far too composed, but the Hannibal that sits next to him now was locked up for three years, without any positive physical contact. He wants Will, and is too afraid to do anything about it.

Which means that of they're ever going to be physically intimate, it will have to be initiated by Will.

That's fine by him.

He sighs in fake weariness, rubbing his eyes and placing the book down on the arm of the sofa, and doesn't have to wait long for the inevitable break of silence.

"Will? Is everything alright?" Hannibal prompts, concerned.

"Yeah. Just tired, I guess," he replies, shifting minutely towards Hannibal.

"Well, it has been a long few weeks. We can rest now, and heal properly," Hannibal comforts.

"Yeah," Will whispers, smiling and shuffling further along, glancing up at him through his eyelashes.

"Do you want to go to sleep now? The bed is made-"

"I didn't mean that."

"Oh? And what did you mean?"

"I meant that I'm tired of this. Of us... Dancing around each other," Will admits, choosing his words, and abandoning his pretence and leaning forward, dropping a hand on the top of Hannibal's knee, raising a suggestive eyebrow.

Will hears Hannibal's throat constrict, and he lets out a slow, surprised rush of air in a breath, his eyes wide and his focus tight on Will's face.

"I see," he says, his voice low and strained, barely controlled.

"So?" Will asks, sliding his hand higher up his thigh. "What do you think? You can say no, you know."

Hannibal audibly swallows, finally allowing his gaze to fall to Will's hand. Will can feel the scorching heat seeping from his thigh, as Hannibal knots his hands into the material of the couch, his breathing laboured.

"Will," he gasps, desperate and delicate, self-restraint dwindling by the second. "I-"

He snaps then, diving for Will clinging onto the back of his t-shirt as he drags him down on top of him, parting Will's lips under his as they sink back onto the couch. Will sighs contentedly, and manoeuvres himself on top of Hannibal, slipping a leg in between his and grasping onto the material of his shirt, kissing him with everything he has, feeling as if everything they've done has been leading up to this moment. He can feel Hannibal's hands shaking on the back of his neck, can feel his rapidly hardening cock, a hard line against his hip, can sense both the hesitation and franticness in Hannibal's every movement, and Will is _lost_.

Because right now, he's home.

"Will. Will, do you really want this?" Hannibal pants out into Will's mouth.

"Yes," he replies, his breathing equally heavy.

Hannibal moans then, shocked and involuntary, loudly breaking the hushed quiet of the room, and he tangles his hands into Will's hair, clutching him tighter, pulling him impossibly closer. The sounds their mouths make as they pull apart and push together again are positively _lewd_ , inspired by just how _long_ it has taken them to get to this point. It doesn't deter either of them, however, they just hold each other and kiss harder, and Will can't help but be surprised by this.

Hannibal has always been the utter epitome of elegance, holding his sophistication in high regard to himself, but here he is, having a messy make out session with a scruffy FBI profiler on a grimy old sofa. Then again, three years locked up, Will reminds himself. He supposes that Hannibal will take anything he's offered.

This theory is proved half a second later when Will reaches for the top button on Hannibal's shirt, and he wrenches his head back from Will's lips, slamming it against the arm of the couch and groaning, low and needy, his chest heaving.

"Hannibal? Are you okay?" Will asks.

"I'm fine. Forgive me Will, but it's been a while since anybody has touched me like this. I'm a little..." He trails off, uncharacteristically awkward.

"Rusty?"

"I was going to say deprived of touch. But yes, that too."

Will smiles, gentle and reassuring, and slowly carries on undoing the buttons of Hannibal's shirt, resuming his path down his chest. He untucks it from his trousers when he undoes the last one, rucking the bottom of it up Hannibal's torso, and Will runs his hands back up his chest, coming to a stop over his ribcage, where he can feel Hannibal's hammering heart. His hips twitch upwards against Will's when he brushes his nipples, and Will can practically feel Hannibal _vibrating_ with want, as he gazes at him, licking his lips.

Hannibal sits up a little as Will slides the shirt fully off of him, chucking it across the room, watching as it arcs through the air and happens to land on the lamp in the corner. In his brief distraction, Will suddenly feels his own shirt being pried off him, being tugged over his head, a pair of warm hands making their way to the bare skin of his stomach. Out of nowhere, Hannibal pauses, and looks up to meet Will's eyes, his regret evident.

"I'm sorry, Will. I truly am," he says, his hands dancing over one particular scar. Not the one that Dolarhyde left Will further up on his chest, but the one Hannibal had given him.

"We've both done things to each other that we're sorry for. So I forgive you," he replies, because how could he _not_? Whatever Hannibal is, whatever he's done, to other people and to Will, it doesn't matter, because he's _Hannibal_. He understands Will, he _sees_ him, and Will loves him for it. Hannibal is Will's one exception to every rule he's ever had.

Will covers the pleased smile on Hannibal's face with his own, leaning down so that their unclad chests press together. Hannibal's hands clench on his waist, fingernails digging in slightly as he moans into Will's mouth, breathless, when Will lets his teeth graze Hannibal's lips, sinking them in a little.

He drags his lips away from Hannibal's, trailing wet kisses down his jawline until he reaches his neck, and ducks his head down further, fastening his mouth to Hannibal's throat and sucking. Will finally allows his hand to move downward, reaching the button on Hannibal's trousers, and groans when Hannibal lurches his hips up against Will's, feeling a new, more desperate wave of arousal spreading through his body.

"Bedroom," Hannibal hisses out, and Will looks up to see him staring down through hooded eyes, his lower lip caught between his teeth.

"Yeah- yeah, okay," Will babbles, reeling back, clambering off the sofa. "You, you go on ahead, I just need..."

Hannibal nods in agreement, stumbling to the door of the bedroom and entering, while Will dives for the abandoned shopping bags from yesterday, leaning against the wall, still not unpacked. He grabs what he needs and follows Hannibal, darting into the dark room. Hannibal is sitting on the edge of the bed, his socks deserted on the floor, and in the midst of undoing the top button of his trousers, probably to relieve some pressure. He glances up when Will walks in, and outright laughs at the condoms and lube.

"Eager, were we?" He says with a smirk.

"I was hopeful," Will chuckles, dropping them on the bed and bracing his hands on Hannibal's shoulders as he comes up to straddle him. "I couldn't resist, sorry."

"Don't apologise, we're going to need them after all."

Before Will can reply, although he's not sure what he would've said anyway, Hannibal swoops in, capturing his lips in yet another kiss, his hands making quick work of the button on Will's pants, dragging the zipper down. Taking them off completely is another story however, and they end up losing balance, falling back onto the bed with a bounce, giggling like drunken teenagers in love.

Eventually, Will does get free of his pants, which his legs were tangled up in for far too long, and can divert all of his attention back to Hannibal. He has to lift his hips up, but apart from that, stripping Hannibal of his trousers is much less work, and after inching them down his legs, they're both down to their underwear at last.

That comes off pretty quickly, both of them now desperate to touch, _properly_. Will sucks in a breath when he finally sees Hannibal's cock, pretty, flushed, and hard, curving away from his body, aching for contact. He fumbles for the lube, somewhere next to them, and hands it to Hannibal when he finally gets it.

"You can," Will starts, needing him to _hurry up_.

Hannibal nods again, jerkily, and once he's opened the lube, he slowly presses a finger inside Will, cupping his face in his palm with his other hand. Will's eyes flutter shut and his mouth drops open with a whine when Hannibal finds his prostate, and he thrusts down against his finger, overcome with desire. After Hannibal pushes another finger in, and a few minutes of Will languidly rocking against them, he puts a hand on Hannibal's wrist, stilling him.

"I'm ready now," he whispers shakily when Hannibal gives him a questioning look.

"Good," Hannibal murmurs, voice heavy, and accent thick with arousal.

He pulls his fingers out, and Will grabs the pack of condoms, tearing it open and snatching up the first one he touches. Hannibal's cock is steadily leaking, just as much as Will's, and he screws his eyes shut and whimpers as Will slides the condom down and slicks up his cock with lube, hands scrabbling at the sheets. Holding Hannibal's cock in place, Will gradually sinks down, biting down on his lip so hard that he almost draws blood, holding back the sounds he wants to make.

" _Will_ ," Hannibal moans, in pure, tortured bliss. "Oh, _Will_."

"I know," Will answers, gasping for air.

Hannibal's hips jerk upwards, and his hands come flying up too, resting on Will's waist once again. He seems to manage to gather enough control to open his eyes and stare at Will, his eyes dark, bringing his hand down to touch Will's cock.

"Shit, Hannibal, _yes_ ," Will mutters under his breath, dragging Hannibal up halfway, where he fuses their mouths together again, kissing him with messy abandon.

They build up a rhythm; Will slowly pushing himself up and down on Hannibal's cock, groaning every time he hits his prostate, Hannibal stroking Will's cock, despite the fact that his hand is trembling, and kissing and panting into each other's mouths. It's been a while since Will has been with a man, been such a long time since he's felt so _full_ , been so completely lost in the feeling of sex. He loves women, he really does, but sex with a man has always been different for him, it's always been so _consuming_ , like he's entirely swallowed up by it. Will hasn't forgotten the fact that this isn't just any man, either.

This is Dr. Lecter, The Chesapeake Ripper, _Hannibal_.

Predatory, cannibalistic, gorgeous _Hannibal_ , reduced to a shuddering, gasping mess beneath him, desperate for Will's touch, desperate for his _love_.

With a particularly hard slam down, Will grunts, feeling his muscles tense, and he knows he's close. Hannibal's other hand is clinging to his hipbone, his nails leaving angry, red scratches behind, but Will can't find it in himself to care, revelling in every part of the experience, pulling away from the kiss and leaning his forehead against Hannibal's.

He doesn't notice the tears spilling from Hannibal's eyes until it's too late- he's past the point of no return, and so is Hannibal, having completely lost his grasp on the English language- the only word Will recognises is his name. Will can't help but involuntarily clench around Hannibal's cock when he hits his prostate again, but it's this that undoes Hannibal completely.

" _Will_ -" Hannibal groans, hand falling from Will's cock and onto his thigh, fumbling for something else to hold onto.

He arches up against Will, tensed, repeating his name amongst other foreign words that Will doesn't understand, and comes with a choked sob, shoving his hips upward, cock pulsing in Will. Will moans at the sight, reaching down to stroke himself, and he's close enough to the edge that it only take two or three tugs until his orgasm crashes down, and he's following Hannibal, coming all over his chest.

Collapsing on top of him, Will holds onto Hannibal's shoulders as he comes back to himself, body twitching with aftershocks, panting against his collarbone and hearing Hannibal in the same condition. After a few minutes of not moving, he pulls himself up, sliding Hannibal's cock out of him and drawing a whimper from his mouth. He rolls off Hannibal, and after looking at him for affirmation, removes the condom, reluctantly getting up to put it in the wastepaper bin.

Flopping back down on the bed next to Hannibal, he brings a hand up to trace patterns on his chest, and asks the question he needs to.

"You," Will says, not sure where to begin. "You were crying. Why were you crying?"

Hannibal sighs, opening his eyes and turning his head towards Will, giving him that same look he had given him on the cliff, affection practically seeping from every pore.

"Because I finally have you, Will," Hannibal replies, and curls his hand into a lock of Will's hair, twisting it around his fingers. "My dearest Will," He adds, voice cracking.

Will kisses him then, because _he_ has Hannibal _too_ , and he holds him close as they fall asleep, together.

**Author's Note:**

> I know Dolarhyde actually disfigured Will in the books but I didn't really want that, so.


End file.
